The Witness

Chapter 7 - Faith

Rosa had a tradition, one she followed as if her life depended on it (it did, in a way), but last night she had forgotten it somehow. Oh well, it wasn't too late. She glanced at her wall calendar. January 19, 1999 - Tuesday. Assuming she had arrived home past midnight, then her uncle did what he did to her early morning.

She started this tradition when she was fifteen, the year her uncle stayed in her family's house while he set up branches of his religious bookstore all across the metro, mostly beside churches and Catholic schools. Instead of his usual month- or two-month-long stays at Rosa's to check on the business, he stayed for ten months. And it was a very long ten months. Then Rosa had an idea.

On the back page of her diary was a list of dates. With each diary Rosa bought (and there were five since she was fifteen), she would reserve the last page or two for dates. She would record how many times her uncle abused her, and exactly when.

The last page of her current diary was more than halfway filled, to her horror. On the next empty line, she wrote: January 19, 1999 (Tuesday).

She paused. She wasn't sure if she should add it. What happened last night, everything she had seen from up the bell tower, felt so surreal, like scenes from a horror movie or drama, and Rosa didn't entirely trust her senses to begin with. Her uncle entered her room that night, after all, and her mind clouded and drifted away as it always did. But then she woke up and Sylvia was dead and Joaquin's mugshot was flashed on TV. It was real.

The problem was she wasn't sure how much of it was real.

So she turned to another page, the next blank one from the front, and listed down what she was sure of.

January 19, 1999 (TUESDAY)

I ran away from home.

I returned.

Tito Geoff raped me.

Sylvia Francisco was murdered.

Joaquin de la Cruz was arrested for it.

Rosa paused. Then she decided to list down what she wasn't sure of.

Did I really go to St. Martin de Porres Parish?

Did I actually meet Joaquin?

Did I actually go up the bell tower?

Did I actually watch Sylvia's murder? And if I did, oh god, WHY didn't I do anything?

Did I really see Joaquin on that road trying to help Sylvia? Was he really innocent?

Again, if that were true, then how come I did NOTHING?

"Ate Rosa!" Only Miguel had the decency to knock in their house. "You have to come down now," he was saying. "Mom's starting to get angry."

I'm angry at her too, Rosa wanted to snap back. But before she went down, she added two more things in her diary:

Atty. Steven Alinsangan

West Metro Correctional Facility

***

"Rosa Torre, Maddie Goro, Tina Chan, please join me outside the classroom," said their chemistry teacher, Mrs. de los Reyes, the next day.

Rosa looked up from her assigned reading and wondered what that was all about. But she closed her book and followed the others outside.

"I just want to inform you that since Rosa no longer has a partner in experiments, she will be joining you, Tina and Maddie," said their teacher when they were outside.

Tina and Maddie looked at each other, and then at Rosa as if she were some disgusting insect. Sylvia's death had not changed anything.

If their teacher had noticed the two girls' looks of disgust, she paid no attention. "That is all. I expect you three to divide work evenly and to cooperate with each other. Don't hesitate to come to me if you have any problems. You may return to the classroom now."

That lunch, instead of eating alone in the corner of the canteen like she usually did, Rosa went to the library. She took her diary with her. She found the latest city map, located the West Metro Correctional Facility, and copied its address to her notebook. It was going to be quite a commute, she thought. Then she asked for a telephone directory and also copied Atty. Steven Alinsangan's number. He was easy to find because he was the only one among his namesakes that had a title.

After dismissal, Rosa caught Miguel in front of the grade school building. "Tell Mom I'm not going home yet."

Miguel paused. "You really like upsetting her, don't you, Ate Rosa?"

"It's just two hours of remedial. I flunked a math test."

"Wow. She's gonna get so mad."

"I know. I'm used to it. See you."

It took her two short jeepney rides and a rather long walk to the prison, which was in the heart of the city. It was a tall, gray building with a gloomy and crumbling exterior, with tall fences in its perimeters, topped with coils of barbed wire. It was heavily guarded. As Rosa approached it, she realized that she didn't even know if it was alright to visit it today. And it was starting to get dark.

A part of her started regretting her journey, but there was no other choice. She was already there. And she knew she had to press on, despite her worst fears, for her own peace of mind.

"You're just in time," said the security guard in Block D, where Rosa learned Joaquin was kept after some prodding. "Visiting hours end in twenty minutes. We don't allow strangers in, though. Just people the prisoners personally know. How are you related to Joaquin de la Cruz?"

Rosa paused. "I guess I'm a friend."

"You guess?"

Rosa knew that she messed up. "Just tell him that Rosa wants to see him," she said. "He'll recognize me." Or not, she added in her head.

After giving her a dubious look, the guard nodded and left Rosa with another guard.

Rosa stared at the ground. Either what had happened really happened, or that her mind had played tricks on her again, mixing up details and timelines, to the point where reality moved like movie scenes and fantasy mixed with memory. When the guard returned, her heart was pounding.

"Follow me," he said. "You'll have to talk to him through the bars. He's in isolation. He refuses to go to the visiting area because the others threatened to beat him up." He laughed. "Rapist-murderers don't have it easy here, thank god."

They went ahead to a corridor with empty cells on either side, then turned right to another corridor. At the very end of it was Joaquin's cell.

The boy looked skinnier than ever, and exhausted. The right side of his face was purple and red with bruises. It was also strange to see an altar boy in the standard prisoner's orange shirt and pants, but a strong sense of familiarity swept over Rosa when his blackened eyes lit up in recognition and he stood up from his cot. He clutched the bars of his cell. "Rosa!"

Rosa felt like crying.

"You're alive," he breathed out. "You're safe. I thought--I thought they got you too."

Still in tears, Rosa shook her head and slipped her hands through the bars. She took Joaquin's hands and squeezed them, savoring their warm touch, their solidness. "You're real," she repeated over and over. "You're real. It was real."

"I didn't do it, Rosa. You have to believe me." He gulped. Rosa looked down and saw a tight cast around his knee, where he'd been shot. "I'm innocent."

"I know," Rosa replied. "I know what I saw, Joaquin. And I'll get you out of here."